The Hero
by OnTheImportanceOfLungs
Summary: The story of FE7's Tactician. This will be rather unpolished, as the final product will be a fangame, not just fiction. Expect something far different from the Tactician stories you're used to. Will span pre-Blazing Sword to post-Sword of Seals.
1. Prologue: Beginnings

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem, in any incarnation of the best gaming series ever.

Author's Note: This is written in first person, because it's far more personal than third person omniscient. I wanted to write it in second person, but that's damn hard (the only good second person fic I can remember is The Lie I've Lived by jbern). This is not only a fanfiction for the pleasure of readers, but also the story behind the fangame I'm modding. I'm still learning the three million and four hundred eighty three thousand, two hundred and fifty four ropes related to romhacking. When the project has substance, I'll link you guys, so you can play this as a game as well.

**Tactician**

I walked through the doors into the Throne Room. It doubled as King Fado's dining hall, and the knights of his court were all present, making merry.

King Fado was seated in a seat on a circular table, in a seat of gold. His family sat in wooden chairs with the rest of his court, promoting a sort of equality that even the Marquess of Pharae could barely match among his constituents.

He was a kindly man, with the shoulders of someone who had been in heavy armor for far too long. His hands were callused in a spiralling pattern that came from having lances ripped out of your grip.

What impressed me the most, however, was the love the man radiated. He was truly a benevolent figure, even when dining. A little girl sat at his right and a boy who looked to be the same age sat on the other side of her.

"Ah! Entertainment", King Fado boomed.

I ran my hand over my lyre, strumming several chords, smiling.

"I'm here today to tell a story about great knights from across the ocean! A story of a true noble man, Lord Marth of-"

"My King", muttered a rather handsome knight with dark red hair. He looked to be just beyond the cusp of manhood, and his hands were streaked. A man who wielded a sword as an extension to his arm and a lance in passing. There were awkward bruises on his forearm, undoubtedly mishaps from trials with an axe. Was he a Paladin, or one of the soldiers known as Great Knights?

"Please excuse me, Bard", said King Fado, smiling at me. "What is it, Seth?"

"I would prefer to hear a more interesting story. A story about someone who isn't a noble knight."

I hesitated. All my stories were about noble men and women.

"Perhaps a story about the Sorcery General of Etruria, the Lady Cecilia, Sir Seth?" I wondered along, playing my lyre idly.

"No. I would prefer a story about someone truly powerful in ways that most of us will never be."

Another knight beside him laughed, his mane of brown hair cascading to and fro. "Someone with more promise than _you_, Seth?"

"Of course, Sir Orson. I will be a hero", he replied. _I will be a hero_. A mantra of sorts. There was a hero in the room. I had a story to tell.

"Is that so, Sir Seth?" I interjected. "A hero, you say? A hero." I laughed a bit.

His face darkened. "Do not mock me, Bard. I will be someone you sing about one day, if you live as long."

"I've lived for very many years, Sir Seth, despite my appearances. And one thing I've learned is that heroes die."

"Well I won't", he fired back. "I'll live to an old age, at the side of my King for as long as I do."

My laughter became mirthless. "Big words for a young boy. I know the story of only two heroes. One died damn young, but the other lived." I paused. "He lived long enough to realize that he looked upon a villain when he gazed in the mirror."

Seth frowned. The tense silence of conflicting emotions was nearly tangible. "That sounds like a story I'd want to listen to", he finally decided.

The smile left my face. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure. In my years as a Bard, I hadn't ever told this story.

I took a deep breath, and softly strummed a more ambient chord.

"I'm not sure if children should be present for this story, my King", I warned.

"No. My children will inherit this Kingdom one day. I will not coddle them", he replied sternly.

"Well, then... listen close, and allow me to tell you a story about a man unlike any other..."

**Tactician**

My name is Doug. I'm the son of ex-General Jeremy Deeping, the Highmaster of the Wyvern Corps. For thirty years, he fought as a Wyvern Knight, dedicating himself to perfecting just one weapon. When he could finally wield one like no other, he left the Corps to breed and sell the little draconic hybrids.

My name is Doug Deeping. Laugh it out.

I'd like to tell you that I was no one special - just the son of a wyvern seller who was a ranked officer, but I'd be lying.

From a young age, I had always wanted to be a hero. Not a roving leader of Mercenaries, saving Princesses and all, but a real Hero. While my father worshipped the fortitude of Grand General Hartmut, I worshipped the bravery of Roland. While he swung a lance like he was born holding it, my weapon of choice had always been a bladed weapon.

Most people subscribed under his school of thought.

Of course, it came as a surprise that the son of J. Deeping and the Valedictorian of the Academy would join Intelligence as opposed to the Wyvern Corps or even the Riders.

I would have been more respected if I'd entered the Mage's Guild.

Of course, I was the darling of Intelligence. My mentor was the one and only Legault, the twenty five year old flaming homosexual genius with the curved blade that was colloquially referred to as a Killing Edge. He had been the Head of Intelligence for nearly nine years to date, fighting prejudice from the higher ups and slitting throats with a type of efficiency never seen before.

I hated him. He'd always run his hand across my shoulders or tousle my hair or rub against me inappropriately.

Did I mention that I was twelve?

I walked out of the house in the Residence District and slowly moved towards the headquarters of Intelligence, situated beside the Palace training fields.

As I expected, my father was in the yard, his lance dancing to a melody only he could hear. He wasn't a very strong man for a Wyvern Knight, but he was quicker than most of the thieves and other riffraff in Intelligence, and as skilled as the majority of the Contracted Assassins.

"Are you going out again?" he asked me from his perch on his wyvern. When I was younger, the spectacle scared me. To discover that I could defeat the majority of my schoolmates who rode boosted my confidence. That was not to say that General Deeping's Blackie wasn't the most terrifying Wyvern in existence. It had been named after its color, a deep coal, and it was at least sixty years older than the second oldest Wyvern in Bern. Blackie had been the Wyvern my father's grandfather rode into war with Etruria a hundred years ago.

"Yeah." My reply was rather curt, but it did not deter my father from going into the age old chastisement of my life choices.

"You're too good for Intelligence, Doug."

I carefully schooled my expressions. "Intelligence needs more men willing to fight for them."

"Indeed they do, Highmaster", came a voice behind me.

I recognized it immediately. If Legault had been the Genius of Intelligence, she was the Prodigy of the Mage's Guild. At the age of just fourteen, she had been elected by the entirety of the Guild to lead them.

"Hello Parva." My father smiled warmly. He dabbled a bit in magic himself and was always willing to discuss magical theory. It was a pity that he had a tiny magical core due to lack of practice.

"General Deeping, I've come to collect Doug. There's been a bit of an incident down at intelligence."

"Should I come as well?" he wondered, looking a bit worried.

"That might be wise. Bring your lance", she cautioned, throwing him a tome. I recognized it to be Flux, the First Magic of Bramimond. She handed me the Second, Nosferatu, the tome of the Vampire, opting to hold onto her-

"Is that a copy of the Fenrir?" my father breathed in shock.

"Yes. I'd obtained it three days previously, but with the entire situation with General Petro..."

"Ah, I see. Perhaps we'll discuss it afterwards." Father walked briskly into the house, undoubtedly looking for his lance.

"How are you holding up?" Parva asked me not unkindly. I had a rather strained relationship with the girl six years my senior due to the fact that I had turned down her offer in favor of Legault's.

"I'm okay", I replied awkwardly.

"Are you making any progress with the Dirk?" she asked, referencing my unique use of the most archaic of Assassin's weaponry. Legault had no clue how to use it, as I had learned it from my father's esoteric tomes from before the Scouring itself.

"Yes, I appear to have acquired some ability with it. I very much enjoy the fact that it doesn't have any disadvantages against the lance. Unfortunately, it doesn't possess any advantages against axes as most swords do."

"Well, you can't have everything in life." She smiled indulgently. "And your progress with magic?"

"I took the Luna tome for study - my father doesn't have what it takes to use it, apparently. It is a rather simple venture, and I'm trying my best to hunt down a copy of Eclipse itself."

"Have you given thought to studying Nature or the Light?"

I paused for a moment. "No. I don't believe that is the proper recourse."

"Listen to you, twelve and talking about 'proper recourse'. I should steal you away from Intelligence. Actually, after today, you might end up quitting Intelligence anyway."

"Wh-what?"

"You have to see it to know", she replied grimly. "Have you encountered death yet, Doug?"

"N-no." I was in nearly full-blown panic now.

"It's not pretty", she said, sighing heavily. "Not pretty at all. General Murdock, General Petro, they're all there."

"And why would they all be there?" my father wondered. He had retrieved his Repeater. It was a strangely crafted lance. In order to use it, you had to throw your arm for a stab. Whether or not such a stab was successful, it'd store the kinetic energy behind your attack with magic. To complete it, you'd let go of the lance's handle, and it'd snap forward, hitting the opponent a second time. It required a fair amount of skill with the lance, and a fair amount of bravery to use - no warrior wants to let go of his weapon.

There was a loud rush of wind and the horrible sound of snap-freezing in the distance.

It was the sound that I had recognized.

The Fifth Tome of Athos the Archsage, Fimbulvetr the Bringer of Ice. Parva looked rather confused for a moment before her eyes widened in recognition. My father had already mounted his wyvern.

"Parva! Get on! Doug, go the normal route. We have to get there _now_!" Parva obligingly jumped onto the back of Blackie, her arms around my father's waist in what was known as the Rescue maneuver and they took to the skies.

I began to run, dashing through the paths between the houses.

In a whirlwind of speed, I tore past the various stalls and stores in the Merchant's District, and towards the general direction of the Mage's Tower.

I slammed into a huge man.

"Oof", I muttered, picking myself up off the ground, staring at the person I'd bumped into. He had a rather surly face, and looked to be slightly drunk.

"Kid, getcher ass back heah!"

"Sir. This is not the time and place for that." I flashed my badge from Intelligence.

Most of the people around me recoiled. We have a pretty terrible reputation.

"Where'd jer steal that frim, kiddy?"

"This is _not_ the time for that. Unhand me. Now."

My speaking patterns were rather cultured, as my father didn't let me out into the streets often when I was younger, lending more credence to my words.

"Kids like you gotta be taught a lesshen!" In the blink of an eye, he pulled out a hachet.

It wasn't much of a surprise, everyone was armed, after all. But he pulled one out of me. After I had showed my badge.

No one had ever done that to me before, not even the people in the Wyvern Corps. Not even Igor Petro, my long-hated rival during the Academy days.

Protocol dictated that I had to kill him.

But he was drunk, and misguided. I didn't look like the generic member of Intelligence - no covering Cloak, battlescarred face, or even a visible weapon in my hand.

Protocol...

I pulled out my Dirk and twirled it menacingly, but he didn't desist.

Instead, he slammed the axe into me. I jumped back just in time, but not quick enough to escape a nasty gash to my arm.

I had never been attacked like that before. I bit my lip.

"Nosferatu", I muttered, a hand on my tome, another hand pointed at him. An array of gaseous purple runes formed around him, choking him, then exploding. He collapsed to the floor in a shriveled, boneless heap, and my shoulder healed with a strange itching sensation.

I checked the man's corpse, identifying him quickly as another vagabond, and I quickly left the scene, unnerved by the fearful glances. The Pathology Division would take the body in several hours for another ID and to return him to his family, if it existed.

Oh dear god, what had I done? The man, he probably had a family. Perhaps even children. What if he was the only person to have a job? What if his wife had been sick. What if he had children?

A million thoughts ran through my head as I continued to run through the streets - with my Dirk out this time. There was no trouble in the streets and people milled about happily.

I arrived at Intelligence to utter chaos.

I quickly slipped in the main entrance and ran directly into General Murdock.

"S-sir!" I quickly cried out.

"There's no need for that. I've just arrived as well. We must hurry."

Murdock was dressed in full battle regalia, swinging one of the three Rex Hastae in the world with his right arm.

He moved deceptively fast as we cleared the dorms, the mess hall and approached the sound of fighting. Most of the doors had been torn off their hinges, and I recognized a Blackie-shaped hole in a wall. I winced.

Carnage. Utter carnage. There were at least twenty fallen members of Intelligence arrayed around the room, each of them with blade marks in vital areas.

My father and Parva were fighting Legault and a beautiful woman with blond hair.

"Run! That's General Murdock, Clara!" Legault shouted, diving out the window, grabbing her by the waist. A flash of light caught her tome, and I realized that the three frozen figures in the background had been killed by her.

The General stomped over to the body of a fallen soldier, picked up a snapped Javelin and hurled it out the window. It sped through the air, impaling Legault through the arm.

"Gah!" Legault screamed.

The woman known as Clara took out another tome.

"Duck, General!" Parva shouted, somehow pushing Murdock out of the way, and taking a huge Lightning bolt to the chest. She fell to the ground, but got up immediately, her hair standing up. "Weak. It barely p-penetrated my Druidic Cloak", she said, referring to her magical resistance with the traditional name to reassert herself.

I stared as she gulped down a vial of medicine, and glared into the distance.

"This division is disbanded", Murdock growled. "Everyone's dead anyhow, except for Doug, here. It was a bad decision to give them so much leeway to begin with."

He knelt at a frozen body.

"This was Orlov."

My blood ran cold. The woman had killed the Wyvern Corp's Highmaster. He wasn't a just man, but he had been a very powerful player in the protection of the King.

I examined the man's features as well. They were somewhat close to those of his son Igor's (for good reason), and I found myself wondering about the man I killed again.

"This is a bad time for this to happen", muttered Murdock. Grim expressions were seen all around. The Etrurian exchange was happening tomorrow - some of their most powerful generals would be in Bernese territory for continuations of the Peace Accords, and we would look rather weak if Orlov Petro wasn't present.

"I will take the position again, Jaime."

My father was the only man who ever referred to Murdock as anything other than General, or Lord Murdock. He had taught the man himself.

"Thank you, sir."

"Perhaps it's time for me to take up my spear again. It is quite boring, playing with Blackie and magical tomes all the time."

"Your injury, Jeremy..." Parva reminded.

"Nothing someone from Etruria can't heal. I hear their clerics can work miracles."

"There is another matter, sir", continued Murdock. "I would like for your son to accompany the Alpha Corps and the token force of Riders to Etruria as a representative from Intelligence. We can't have them know that the largest spy network in the world's been destroyed and disbanded in a single day."

"Sir?" I spoke aloud.

"Go with them, Doug. Perhaps you will realize the utility of a mount." My father grinned a bit, but I knew he was entirely serious.

I groaned.


	2. Rewrite

Oh hey, I have a rewrite up or something. It'll be a bit slow, but not nearly as slow as this original piece was. This never really got off the ground and stuff, I guess.


End file.
